


Down to His Level

by OhNoHello



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Casual Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rough Sex, fuck buddies, hubert von vestra gets taken to pound town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 11:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoHello/pseuds/OhNoHello
Summary: Once a week, Hubert and Sylvain meet for a means to meet an end.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	Down to His Level

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> I don't know what happened. 
> 
> I was possessed.

The stink of the stables was by far the most foul aspect to the monastery. The rank perfume wafted far outside of the stable’s purview, the scent of hay trying desperately to mask waste and animal sweat. Horses grunted softly, tails wicking at flies, which may have been far more appealing to someone of a simpler attention span. 

Hubert hated it. 

He stood at the wide open doors and stared down the dark of the stables. The ghostly shadows of hulking steeds swayed in their enclosures, shifting like monsters in the black. One snorted, shaking its head out the open window. Moonlight filtered in, casting a pale blue to light what little details were needed. 

Whistling echoed from the far back. 

Hubert marched down the center, arms stiff at his sides and hands balled into fists. He huffed heavily, a large sigh of frustration, hating himself almost as much as he hated the atmosphere. There was nowhere else to go. 

He reached the far corner of the stalls, the furthest from prying eyes, to see another tall monster in the dark. 

He was far less imposing out of armor, but no less large. Broad shouldered with a thick neck that Hubert simply wanted to strangle. Soft red hair that seemed to be naturally stylized, flopping rakishly in a manner that was _conventionally_ attractive. He was already dressed down, shirt open just enough to reveal just a hint of the broad chest that lay hidden beneath. 

And he was grooming a horse. Whistling.

Sylvain caught sight of Hubert in the moonlight and his little song stopped short, dropping in a low tone, implying an appreciation of what he saw. Hubert’s skin crawled as those lecherous eyes scanned over him. 

“Do you want everyone to know we’re here?” Hubert hissed. 

Sylvain snorted, a sideways grin cocking across his face, and went back to brushing down the mare’s side. 

“Calm down,” he said, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “Everyone’s asleep at this hour.” 

“Not the guards,” Hubert said. “Or the staff who work at night. Others who are awake at this-” 

“Jeez, you’re touchy tonight.” That ridiculous smile grew. “Is that why you’re late?” 

“I am not. . .” Hubert huffed, regaining his composure. “Stop trying to instigate.” 

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Sylvain laughed, not sparing Hubert a glance and stroking the brush lovingly down the horse’s flank. 

“Put that thing away,” Hubert ordered.

“Fine fine,” Sylvain said, taking the horse by the reins. “Keep your panties on.” 

Sylvain led the horse back to the empty stall he took it from and as he passed Hubert, he ran his hand from shoulder to shoulder, fingers trailing across his chest. Hubert recoiled, flinching away from the other man’s touch, despite what they were out there to do. Sylvain simply laughed, friendly and wholly inoffensive. It made Hubert’s blood boil. 

He huffed angrily and clicked the snaps open on his jacket. 

They’d been doing this dance for months now. Once a week, like clockwork, Hubert would slink out of his room to find Sylvain in the stables, happy to let Hubert do as he pleased. He wasn’t sure how it started exactly. Sylvain was always a . . . _forward_ kind of person and had some snide remark to say in passing. When Hubert finally challenged him on it, the knight proved to be made of more convictions than Hubert had given him credit for. 

Sylvain didn’t need to hear it, however. It’d only inflate his already too massive ego. 

In the end, Hubert got someone to take out his pent up frustrations on and Sylvain was just the type of person with loose enough morals to not question it any further than a superficial base need. Just another one of Hubert’s secrets. 

Hubert ripped his jacket off and tried to find the cleanest spot on the ground to place it. He pulled his shirt up and over his head, the cool night air kissing goose pimples onto his skin. He folded his clothes to the soft sounds of the reins and bit clinking as Sylvain removed them, uttering soft cooing reassurances to an animal that didn’t comprehend what he was saying. 

He heard Sylvain’s soft footfalls crunching over the hay and didn’t bother acknowledging him, opting instead to neatly fold his shirt. 

“Eager,” Sylvain commented on Hubert’s state of undress. 

“Don’t.” Hubert glared over his shoulder. 

Sylvain was in an identical state of undress. That barrel chest that had been only teased just moments ago was put on full display. His body toned with all the care of someone who prioritized his strength above all else. Pale blue light from the outside world outlined his thick shape, dipping into a no less meaty waist. Even in the dim of night, Hubert could see the defined lines of his hips, pointing down like an arrow and disappearing into the hem of his pants. A direction of where to go. Sylvain pulled at his laced string, loosening his pants, and Hubert realized he was staring. He reclaimed his glare to that smug face. 

“Pervert,” Sylvain said, taking a confident step forward. He stepped out of those pants, revealing himself bare, and left his clothes lying in whatever pile of filth they fell to. 

Hubert spared his assets a glance before refocusing on his own task. He gently placed his shirt atop his jacket and pulled the small vial from his pants. When he placed it on a ledge, he noticed there was a horse in the stall next to theirs, staring at him. His eyes narrowed. 

Strong, warm, calloused fingers cupped his chin and tilted his head to look back over his shoulder. He barely registered heavy lidded amber eyes and felt the heat of Sylvains breath across his lips before he knew what was going on. He jerked away from the unwanted contact, grabbing Sylvain’s wrist too tight. 

Sylvain had the audacity to be amused. 

“Still a no then, huh?” he asked. 

Hubert threw his hand away and stepped out of his hold. 

“And I suppose the gloves stay on again?” Syvlain asked. 

“Why wouldn’t they?” Hubert asked. “I don’t want to get my hands filthy.”

Sylvain feigned hurt, but he couldn’t keep that insufferable smile off his face. Hubert made quick efficient work of stepping out of his boots, pants, and smallclothes, all the while aware of Syvlain’s quiet eyes appraising him. He paid no attention to when the man began stroking himself, his head cocking to the side to observe Hubert’s body at different angles. 

Hubert turned to glare at his conquest, ready to put the man in line. 

“On the ground,” he ordered. 

“You sure know how to butter a boy up huh?” Sylvain said, stroking himself a little faster, grinning a little wider. “You don’t want to at least warm me up? Get me in the mood?” 

If it wasn’t obvious that the man had been in the mood since Hubert first walked into the stables. 

Hubert simply pointed to the dirt. 

“At least tell me I’m pretty,” Sylvain said with a smile. 

“You disgust me.” 

With more insistence, Hubert pointed to the pile of hay. Sylvain shut his mouth and sauntered near. For a horrible breathless second, Hubert was afraid the big man would try to go in for another kiss, but instead he simply slipped downwards. One knee at a time, he knelt at Hubert’s feet, his head angled so that his eyes travelled upwards, rolling high and wide in a way that almost denoted reverence. 

Hubret breathed in through his nose, slow and shaking. His jaw clenched, on its way to aching. His hands trembled as they slowly curled into tight fists, fingernails digging into his palms. He refused to acknowledge what that look did to him. 

Sylvain already knew. 

Without taking his eyes off Hubert, he leaned forward. Slow and wet, he planted a kiss to the tip of Hubert’s cock, his lips curling around the head delicately, his tongue just poking out to taste the beaded precum. His eyes fluttered closed and long dark lashes danced across his cheeks. On the next kiss, his mouth opened wider, his tongue lolling out to rest Hubert’s cock head against the flat wet of it. Hubert’s cock twitched and Sylvain quietly moaned, something that could be _felt_ against his soft palette. 

It would be simple to let Sylvain suck him off. Watch the big man jerk himself into the hay as he happily deep throated Hubert’s cock. Maybe entwine his fingers into those thick locks and hold his head in place while Hubert has his way with Sylvain’s mouth. 

Perhaps he was in more of a _’playful’_ mood, but he had other machinations for Sylvain. 

“On your back,” he croaked, already so far gone by just a little kiss to the dick. 

Syvlain’s eyes practically glowed in the moonlight as he stared up at Hubert. He drew back, a small string of precum trailing after his obscene tongue. That slow smile returned and licking his lips, Sylvain did as he was told. He lounged back against the hay, waiting for Hubert to slide in between his legs. Without being told, after having done so many times, Sylvain hooked his knees over his hands and pulled his legs to his chest, revealing a wanting, puckered hole. 

With all the warmth of a brick, Hubert went for the vial, uncorked it, and settled down at the prize that was presented to him. The liquid from the vial was viscous and unscented, slick as it slid down the leather of his gloves. He pressed it to Sylvain’s hole and listened to the music of the big man hiss. When he glanced up, he saw that familiar quirk of his lips, the pleasant way his eyes closed. Hubert stared at him as he pushed into the tight warmth of Sylvain. Sylvain threw his head back and hummed happily, straw clinging to his hair. 

That promised pain finally arrived in Hubert’s clenched jaw. He allowed Sylvain his reverie and tried to reap the benefits. 

The big man squirmed down on him, his body shifting to the dance of Hubert’s finger, grinding on it. Muscles shifted and the hay whispered a sweet song under his wriggling body. Sylvain brought a hand up over his head and Hubert watched with fascination as his chest constricted and swelled with the movement, the way his arm flexed and advertised his demonstrable strength. 

Hubert’s teeth ground behind pressed lips, gaze trailing over the large chest, the bend in his mid section, the gathering of flesh that moved as his hips slid against the hay. A large cock that rested weeping, against his stomach. 

Hubert pressed in a second finger and leaned forward. 

Sylvain whimpered happily. His back arched and he ran his hand into his hair. It was all a show, Hubert knew that. He glared at the bottom of Sylvain’s jaw and tried at least to enjoy it. 

A gloved hand ran up the definitions of Sylvain’s physique. It trailed over twitching skin, the soft folds as he bent and sharp lines where he was taut. Hubert's touch crawled, dipping into his belly button, higher, higher, until it found a thick tit. His hand clawed maliciously, fingers digging sharp into soft flesh. A predator's talon clutching his prey. 

"Ugh yes," Sylvain said, his arm draped over his eyes. 

Hubert glared, hoping he could _feel it_. He squeezed tighter, but it only made Sylvain gasp more lewd whimpers. 

Hubert leaned in, gloves fingers still pumping deep inside of his so called paramour, and found a pert, pink nipple between his fingers. Not bothering with any warning, he bit down. 

"Ah!" 

Sylvain's grip tightened on his leg, pulling it higher, pulling him wider. 

"Be quiet," Hubert whispered, flicking that nipple with his tongue. 

Sylvain only whimpered in response. Hardly quiet. 

Hubert moved on to the other tit, biting down instead on the empty, open, wanting skin. It was a shame, really. The marks he had left last week had already disappeared. He liked it when Sylvain was reddened from bite marks, yellow bruises that were almost healed from where he dug his fingers in, the shape of his hand on the ample flesh of Sylvain's ass. Hubert dug his teeth in a little deeper, hoping that maybe this time he might taste blood. 

"Ffffuck yes! Hubert!" 

Hubert's eyes flared. Viper quick, he ripped his hand free of Sylvain's ass and clamped down on his throat, pressing his weight against a still wriggling windpipe. Sylvain's eyes bulged, more out of surprise than anything. 

"I said," Hubert ground out, sneering in Sylvain's face. "Shut. Up." 

That did not deter the Gautier knight in the slightest. He grinned. A swallowed lump pushed past Hubert's weight, traveling across his palm. A pink tongue wet his lips in some pathetic act of seduction. 

All of it, the ridiculous facade Sylvain put on. A show for the masses. Watch the puppet dance his merry dance and be entertained. 

Hubert _leaned_.

"Stop that," he said flatly. 

" _stop_ " Another heavy swallow. " _what?_ " 

Yet he did not stop. Still that wry grin, those soft eyes, promises that yes Hubert was the only one in the world at that moment. 

"I am not some maid for you to woo," he said darkly. 

Nothing stopped this man. Not armies or the threat of death. He grinned, a smile filled with charisma and falsehoods. In another fashion, Hubert might have enjoyed exploiting those talents, but all he needed from Sylvain was a warm hole. 

" _can you blame me,_ " Sylvain rasped. 

Sylvain's hand materialized out of Hubert's periphery, ready to caress hair out of his eyes or to stroke a cheek lovingly. Hubert smacked the offending arm away, leaving Sylvain to cough around his regained air. 

"Oh come on," he said, sputtering but still managing to sound like laughter. "I'm just here to have a little fun. You remember fun, right Vestra?" 

How dare he be so entertained, so pleased with himself. From that smile to the amusement in his tone to the way his jovial carefree attitude never quite seemed to hit his eyes. All of it, grated on Hubert.

He sneered at the man, pulled back and ready to be trussed up like a turkey and so proud of it. 

“I am not here for pleasure,” Hubert said. “What we do here is purely utilitarian. A means to an end.” 

That wiped the smile off Sylvain’s face. It slowly faded, ebbing away like the tide without moonlight. The delighted little tension from anticipation eased from his musculature, his body going slack. His eyes fixed on Hubert. 

“So. What we do here,” he said carefully. “Week after week. You don’t enjoy it?” 

“Why should I?” Hubert asked. 

Sylvain’s expression settled into something Hubert had never seen before. A pure blank that finally matched the dullness of his eyes, staring down Hubert as if he were something to be studied, a bug under a microscope. 

Hubert went for the vial and poured a generous amount over the length of his dick. Using his already soiled glove, he slicked himself up, preparing himself to take Sylvain. 

A thick meaty leg dropped against his shoulder, pushing him back off his haunches. Hubert fell to his ass in the muck and only had a moment before the hulking looming form of Sylvain was on him. Sylvain’s hand could wrap around his neck if he wanted to, gripping the back of it and yanking Hubert to his feet. He shoved Hubert against the stable half wall and Hubert braced himself against the wood. 

“What are you-?” 

“Lets find out what you like,” Sylvain snarled, crouching behind Hubert. 

Strong hands pulled Hubert’s ass apart and a thick, wet tongue ran a slow, lingering lap flat against his hole. Hubert stiffened, his legs locking up and his grip on the stall tightened. An unwanted flu like shiver trailed up his spine and into his skull. On the second slow pass of Sylvain’s tongue, Hubert still hadn’t acclimated. He tried to think of something to say, some protest, but his tongue clogged in his throat, choking off words, and all he could manage were a few clicking heavy breaths. 

He could feel Sylvain’s tongue move, picking up in speed, shifting from those slow languid tastes to quick flicks with just the tip. Lapping like a dog, repetitive wet sounds softly playing from Hubert’s ass, but to him it was loud enough to fill his ears. His shoulders slowly hunched, his head dropping between them. His eyes squeezed shut, his hands clawed tight around the wood. His whole world had focused on that singular point and Sylvain’s talented tongue. 

Sylvain laughed, breathy and quiet to himself, but Hubert could tell. By the way he stopped, by the breath against his ass, by the mere fact that he was hyper aware of every noise coming from the big man, pleased with himself once more. 

A finger prodding inside his ass was not a foreign sensation to Hubert, but Sylvain had slipped it in so gentle and smooth that it hadn’t fully registered right away. That tongue kept working around the digit, licking and tasting and doing horrible things between Hubert’s cheeks. 

A warm hand slid between Hubert’s trembling legs and found his dangling slicked up dick. Sylvain tugged on it, pulling slow and sensual, twisting his wrist as he slid down. 

Hubert moaned. He couldn’t help it. 

Sylvain began pumping him, milking him from behind like he was some sort of animal, all while pleasuring his ass, fingering him and lapping at his hole. Drool dribbled between his cheeks. The oil on his slicked up cock squelched as Sylvain _squeezed_. 

Suddenly, everything was gone. The heat of Sylvain’s face, his finger, his hand, all pulled away, leaving Hubert cold and empty.

“Goddess, you’re so selfish,” Sylvain said. 

Panting, Hubert looked over his shoulder. Sylvain stood, in all his naked glory, picking the little vial off the ground. In all the frenzied action, it had been knocked over. A small droplet shimmered on the ground, leaving very little left within the vial itself. Sylvain shook what he could out and ran it over his cock, staring appreciatively at Hubert, presented and waiting for him. 

Sylvain rested a gentle, almost loving hand on Hubert’s hip, lined himself up, and _pushed_. 

“A-” Hubert choked, his head whipping around. 

Slowly, inch by painful inch, Sylvain crept inside. He stretched Hubert, pushing his ass open as he forced himself inside. Hubert panted, hyperventilating in short clipped breaths. He almost didn’t hear the low groan that left Sylvain like a spirit. 

Hubert stared wide eyed into the night and felt eyes on him. The darkened stare of the horse in front of him was fixed on his person, pulled far enough to reveal the beast’s whites. Hubert dropped his head so he wouldn’t have to see, shame filling him. 

Until it stopped. 

Everything froze. Hubert was filled. Sylvain’s grip on his hip was retribution for every time he’d dug bruises into Sylvain’s flesh. Just to make his point, Sylvain thrust once, hard and vicious. 

“Good?” he asked. Smug, no strain whatsoever. Like this was easy. 

Hubert’s arms shook, his legs shook. He was braced against the wall, gripping it for all it was worth, but felt propped up by Sylvain’s strong hands. He glared at the wood, at the animal flank before him, seeing only darkness. 

“M-move,” he ground out between clenched teeth. 

“Ha,” Sylvain breathed. 

He pulled back and thrust. Hard. Flesh slapped against flesh. Hubert rocked forward. His head almost hit the wall. The wind was knocked from his lungs. Then Sylvain did it again. And again. 

The pounding was brutal. Sylvain found a relentless pace that rocked Hubert back and forth and back and forth. Every draw back pulled on Hubert’s ass and every thrust back in nearly knocked Hubert face first into the wood. He stood on his toes out of pure reaction, his legs losing control. Balance was almost not an option. He braced his arm on the ledge, trying desperately to keep still, but Sylvain’s rut simply would not allow that. 

A pressure built deep within Hubert. Every time Sylvain filled him again, stuffed him full for the briefest of seconds, a pleasuring sensation rippled through his very core. With everything going on, thrown off his stiff careful control, he hadn’t been aware when it started. But it had built, layer by layer, growing larger and larger. He felt it pull up his back, race across his arms. A deep filling warmth that pulled him to an edge he didn’t know he had. A tug taut deep within his grown.

“Ah. Ah! _Ah!_ ” Hubert yelped.

Sylvain grunted in time with Hubert’s pants, still managing to sound so pleased with himself. Through the haze of everything, Hubert swore he actually sounded genuine for once. 

He leaned forward, draping his heavy, sweaty body across Hubert’s back. A strong thick arm wrapped around his stick thin body, Sylvain’s large hand splayed across his chest. The quality of the fucking didn’t change, Sylvain’s hips moving like a dog. 

“Gonna make your bitch ass feel _real_ good, Hubert,” he whispered against his back. A gentle kiss was placed on his spine. 

“Ah!” Hubert sobbed. 

Sylvain’s hand trailed down, tickling Hubert’s already sensitive stomach, until once again he found Hubert’s weeping cock. 

Hubert threw back his head, his mouth opened obscenely, eyes rolled back. 

“You want to cum for me?” Sylvain teased, his lips against Hubert’s skin. 

He jerked Hubert out of sync with his thrusts. Sylvain was talking, uttering soft cooing reassurances to an animal that didn’t comprehend what he was saying. That hungry wanting pleasure filled Hubert, reaching its crescendo. Sylvain’s hand slicked over his dick, as warm and as pleasurable as a tight ass to bury in. 

There was nothing left. 

Hubert didn’t scream. A vein pulsed in his neck as he choked on air. His head was thrown back until his neck cracked. 

He came, dick spitting cum over the hay, twitching in Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain had the good grace to stop, holding Hubert close, kissing sweet nothings down his spine. Too lovingly, but Hubert was too lost in his orgasm to care. 

Hubert had maybe half a second of bliss before Sylvain was moving again. 

Chasing his own pleasure, digging into his own selfishness, Sylvain picked a pace that was ruthless. He dragged Hubert back to meet his own thrusts, ensuring that the mere act of sitting would be a painful process. 

That once sweet pleasure that had brought Hubert release had soured on him. A turncoat of discomfort more than anything, just shy of painful. A feeling that pulled on his muscles, raked across his body, made him want to shed himself of his skin. 

This time he actually screamed. 

“Do you want everyone to know we’re here?” Sylvain sang. 

Hubert clamped his hand over his mouth, biting down on his fingers. It tasted of the oil and Sylvain. He dug his teeth in, hoping that even through the glove, he might taste blood. 

The horse continued to stare, watching Hubert in his palace of misfortune. In that moment, he felt on par with the creature, dragged down to his level. 

Sylvain did not stop, heaving as he drew close. His hands dug into bony hips, using them as pulls to drag Hubert right where he wanted him. The pain that sat rounded and fat in Hubert’s loins looped back around until it was once again pleasure. In it he felt a different flavor. Something sweet and familiar. 

Something he only touched in his darkest of moments. 

He snarled, digging his teeth into slicked up white leather. The grip on the ledge splintered under his curled fingers. 

He wanted to chase that delicious pain, live in that moment that Sylvain had brought him too. A mystery he wanted to unravel. He wanted to dive down, to find the scab that obscured what lay beneath, peel it back to reveal the secrets that Hubert hid so well. 

Sylvain grunted. He froze, slamming home hard, one last time. And with a short cry, he filled Hubert. 

In a perfect crystalline moment of silence, they stood frozen as one being. Horses in the stalls grunted softly. One pawed at the earth. Outside the stable, night insects droned their humming song. The world moved on despite the change in theirs. 

Sylvain pulled out glacially slow, cognisant of his partner’s needs, but did nothing to support him. Under his own strength, Hubert crumpled to the ground. Hay crackled under useless knees. His hand slid down the wall, hanging limply above his head. Shaking, he pulled his other hand free from his mouth. Threads had been pulled free from the stitching and the leather was indented. His fingers pulsed painfully as the skin tried to fix itself back into place. 

Seed trickled down his thighs. 

Sylvain crouched down next to him, a grinning blur in his periphery. Hubert longed to ignore him, for him to just walk away now that his purpose had been fulfilled. But Sylvain was who he was. 

He cupped Hubert’s chin and tilted his head, forcing him to look. 

Sylvain was so supremely satisfied with himself, a cat that had caught the canary. That smile that had been filled with falsehoods and lies sat sweet and simple. Hair askew and flopped in his eyes. Wet smudged all around his mouth, making lips puffy and red. A pretty vision. 

Hubert hated him. 

“Did you have fun?” Sylvain asked. 

The corner of Hubert’s lip twitched as it curled up into a sneer. The weight of his head felt heavy in Sylvain’s hand. 

“. . . yes.” 

The warmth of Sylvain’s smile reached his eyes, amber glowing in the moonlight. He leaned in and for a brief horrifying moment, Hubert thought he might go in to kiss him. He jerked back, still held safe in Sylvain’s hand. Hearing the silent protest, Sylvain paused. He sighed, no less happy, and changed course, resting his lips full and soft on Hubert’s cheek instead. Hubert’s eyes closed, his breath shaking heavily with every exhale. 

Sylvain’s hand and lips slipped away and Hubert felt a chill run over his exposed side. His head hung limp, eyes still closed, listening to the rustling of hay and clothes. 

A strong hand thudded atop Hubert’s head, fingers ruffling already mussed hair. 

“See you next week?” Sylvain asked. 

That sneer twitched on Hubert’s lip. Creaking, his neck shifted stiffly to look up at Sylvain through his fingertips, dressed back in his pants, his shirt thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

“. . . of course.” 

Sylvain smiled and horribly ruffled Hubert’s hair again. He walked off through the stables. Whistling. 

Hubert waited until the mockery of a song disappeared into the night. He sat lamely in the moonlight, wrapped in a cocoon of filth and stink and dirt. 

And was pleased.

**Author's Note:**

> I got nothing to say for myself 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


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